


Tis the Season

by soyforramen



Category: Archie Comics, Riverdale (TV 2017)
Genre: Collection of Holiday Prompt Drabbles, F/M, Fifth: Bughead, First Chapter: Varchie AU through Fred's eyes, Fourth: How Hiram Lodge Stole Christmas (A How the Grinch Stole Christmas Parody), M/M, Second/Third Bughead, Sixth: Jarchie
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-06
Updated: 2019-01-06
Packaged: 2019-10-05 05:02:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 10,174
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17318588
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/soyforramen/pseuds/soyforramen
Summary: Collection of Riverdale Holiday one shots based on Tumblr prompts.  Cross posted on Tumblr





	1. Varchie: Chris-akkuh

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> My Family invites you to join our holiday meal as an obvious set up and I’m so sorry

xxxx

Just as Fred was plugging in the lights on the Andrews’ family traditional Chris-akkuh tree, so named by an eight-year old Archie, a knock came at the door. 

“Hey Mom,” Archie said, the delight in his voice evident. Even after the divorce, even with Mary moving to Chicago all those years ago, the holidays were still an Andrews’ family tradition. 

Once an Andrews, always an Andrews.

He turned and saw Mary kiss Archie on both cheeks before stepping into the house. Behind her stood a woman dressed all in black, a confident smile on her face. Confusion crossed Archie’s face as he looked to his mother.

“Archie, this is Veronica Lodge. My law clerk,” Mary said. Her face beamed with pride at presenting the younger woman. And from what Mary had told him, Fred knew it was well deserved. Intelligent, refined, and no-nonsense. All the things the Maiden family aspired to be, though a far-cry from the far more blue-collar Andrews. 

There was a clatter of heels on the floor as she entered, her hand outstretched. “It’s nice to meet you, Archie.”

Fred grinned at the scene. Mary hadn’t hesitated when she’d told Fred she was bringing someone home for the holidays, especially when it became apparent she had more in mind than taking pity on her employee.

Veronica rounded the corner as Archie and Mary spoke in the foyer, and as expected of a high-priced city lawyer, her handshake was firm and confident. “Mr. Andrews, thank you for the invitation to celebrate with your family.” She held out a neatly wrapped package, and Fred took it.

He ignored Archie’s curious glance and inspected the package. “It’s good to finally meet you, but I’m afraid I didn’t get you anything.”

With a brilliant smile, Veronica reassured him the gift wasn’t anything large. “Being invited here is enough of a gift for me. Mary’s always talking about you. Both of you,” she amended with a look at Archie. 

Fred would have to be blind to miss her appreciation of his son’s stature, something he’d inherited from his mother’s side of the family. 

“Archie why don’t you take Veronica to the guest room upstairs? I’m sure she’d like a few minutes after such a long trip,” Mary said. 

Dutifully, Archie made his way to the foyer where both Veronica and Mary’s suitcases waited. As he crossed the threshold, his foot caught the divider and he stumbled. Veronica covered her mouth, eyes dancing with laughter. They made their way upstairs, the conversation flowing easily between them.

Mary followed Fred to the kitchen. Despite having been divorced for over a decade now, they moved in easy tandem as they set the dining room table. Archie came through just as Fred was uncorking the wine, a worried look on his face.

“Mom -“ 

Mary held up a hand, and Fred watched on as the simple act stopped his son dead in his tracks. “I know what you’re thinking Archie, and no. She’s got nowhere else to go, and I hate to think of anyone having to spend the holidays alone. Besides, I’ve got business to settle in town, F.P. still can’t keep himself out of trouble, and Veronica was more than happy to help me when I asked.” 

With that resolved, Archie relaxed and their holiday dinner resumed as normal when Veronica came down. All through dinner, the chemistry between the two younger people was palpable. Veronica slipped into the family dynamic easily, and Fred couldn’t remember a time when Archie laughed so openly. And from Mary’s knowing look it seemed the same on Veronica’s end.

Later that night Fred lay awake in bed, unable to stay asleep. Having a full house again was comforting, but he was still struck by an urge of protectiveness towards his family that he’d never been able to shake. With a heavy sigh, he left his warm bed for the chilly floors and pulled on a robe. Dutifully he checked the front door and windows, all still locked tight against the winter wonderland outside. As he made his way towards the back door, he found the lights on and soft voices. Curious, he padded towards the light.

“Ronnie, I just wanted to make sure you weren’t put off by my parents,” Archie said. Fred raised an eyebrow. Archie rarely jumped to nicknames this quickly. “My mom can be a little -“

“Overwhelming? Stubborn? A force of nature?” Veronica laughed. “You forget, Archie-kins, who I work for. Besides I think they’re an absolute delight. Especially when your father brought out his homemade cookies.”

Archie chuckled, and Fred continued towards the kitchen. 

“Those are for Santa,” Fred said as he checked the lock on the back door.

Veronica frowned. “It’s a little early for that, isn’t it?”

Father and son shared a knowing look. 

“It’s never too early for Santa,” Archie told her.

Fred cracked a grin and pulled out Alice’s apple pie, the same gift she’d given him since they’d moved next door years ago. Forks were passed around and the pie was put in the microwave, a hearty layer of cheddar cheese on top that would have sent Alice into fits, as Archie launched into the story.

Mary and her family were Jewish and still held fast to their traditions, making the drive to Centerville every Friday night for Shabbat, and while they weren’t big on religion the Andrews’ were decidedly big on family gatherings around the holidays. And when his parents separated, Archie came to believe that he had to choose one holiday over the other, Hanukkah or Christmas, and by extension which parent he loved best. 

(This fear was later explained when Jughead had stayed over and mumbled over his pizza that Reggie Mantle had told Archie at lunch that all divorced kids were forced by law to pick their favorite parent. Fred had some words for Marty Mantle the next time he saw him at Pop’s, and if that meant the Mantles’ driveway hadn’t lasted more than two years, well. Maybe Marty shouldn’t have skimped on the high quality materials with the weather Riverdale had been having.)

Refusing to accept that, law or not, Archie decided he wasn’t going to be kept from either of his parents or their traditions. So that December, Archie had come up with a most radical idea, or rather, a radical idea for a tenacious eight year old. That year Archie had insisted on decorating a card for both his parents and Mary had agreed to come back to Riverdale to celebrate the holidays with her now ex-husband and son. (On occasion Fred still found blue and silver glitter in the dining room despite the invitations having long since been framed and hung in Mary’s Chicago apartment.)

Archie had made Mary and Fred stand on the porch outside until sundown in freezing temperatures, and the pair had suffered through stilted, awkward conversations while a trio of young voices inside had argued over where things were supposed to go. Both had silently ignored the blonde and grey beanie they’d seen slip through the backyard in the moments before the front door opened and Archie ushered them inside.

The sight that greeted them was a mismash of Mary’s Hanukkah decorations and the Christmas decoration Fred had inherited from his mother two years prior. The bottom four feet of the Christmas tree had been covered in so much tinsel and blue lights that green wasn’t seen until a jagged line just above Archie’s height. Stars of David made from popsicle sticks and construction paper dreidels were hung from the tree, nestled between ornaments long passed down in the Andrews’ family. Mary’s chanukkiyah, gifted by a rather orthodox aunt who’d never liked Fred very much, sat in the front window next to the tree. Stocking had been hung along the walls as high as Betty, still the tallest of the three, could reach, explaining the pounding noises heard earlier. Fred was grateful that it was Betty driving the nails into his walls. The young girl’s touch showed in the careful placement and organization of the ornaments, while it was clear Jughead had been the one to lay out long forgotten family heirlooms.

Archie had sat Fred down in front of a plate of misshapen sufganiyah, while Mary was seated in front of a plate of what aspired to be gingerbread men. With a sense of purpose Archie lit the menorah. He strode purposefully towards Fred and loudly proclaimed tale of the miracle of light. Across the room, Mary was beaming as she listened to her son recite the prayers he’d learned at her side. 

Next, Archie went to Mary to recite Santa Claus and how he’d brought peace and joy to the world under the North Star, stopping in to check on Mary, Joseph, and their baby on his way to deliver presents to the the nice children of the world. Fred concealed his laughter in a cough.

Thus, Chris-akkuh became an Andrews’ family tradition. Mary’s family hadn’t been pleased by the mixing of her religious traditions with Fred’s secular Christmas, but Mary herself was thrilled to received Archie’s invitation every June. And every year Mary and Archie would attend Hanukkah services in Chicago and every year, regardless of when Hanukkah fell, the pair returned to Riverdale to celebrate the Andrews’ version of the holidays. Even after Archie had left for college, even after Mary had become heavily involved with someone else, the family continued their tradition.

“I love how close you are with your parents,” Veronica said when he’d finished.

Archie’s grin could have lit up the kitchen on it’s own. Fred gave his son’s shoulder a squeeze on his way to deposit the forks and pie tin in the sink. 

“What about you, Ronnie? Any family traditions?” Archie asked.

The question prompted a heavy sigh from Veronica, her face torn at the question. “Not unless you count society functions and end of quarter financials a tradition. Daddy always worked until Midnight Mass, and the next morning we’d exchange expensive, thoughtless gifts. Then they’d be off to one Christmas brunch or another, followed by a string of charity events and end of year parties.”

“And now?” Fred asked.

“Now we’re not exactly on speaking terms.”

“Consider yourself invited to next year’s Andrews’ family Chris-akkuh, Veronica,” Fred said.

Veronica smiled shyly, and Archie looked pleased at his father’s reaction.

“Thank you, Mr. Andrews.”

“Anytime. Now don’t stay up too late, you know how much your mother’s been looking forward to brunch tomorrow.”

Veronica pulled Fred into a brief hug, and he felt an odd sense of fatherly protection for the girl. They exchanged good nights, and as he left, Fred could her one last bit of their conversation.

“I’m sorry about Mom,” Archie said. “I think she might have been trying to set us up, and I know you two work together. I don’t want you to feel uncomfortable.”

Fred hesitated at the stairway banner. This wasn’t a conversation he should overhear, but he still worried about his only son. He turned and saw Veronica stand on her tiptoes to give Archie a brief kiss. She said something, too low for Fred to hear, and Archie laughed softly. 

With a smile Fred headed up to his bed, certain the two would be just fine.

The next morning, Fred found Archie and Veronica cuddled up together asleep on the couch. (Fully clothed, to his overwhelming relief.) Fred made his way to the kitchen and was greeted by the smell of freshly made coffee. 

Mary’s smile was smug as she passed him a mug. “They’re cute together, aren’t they?”

“When you’re right, you’re right,” Fred said as he poured the coffee. “Though I wonder what will happen when she goes back to Chicago.”

Mary waved off his concern and pushed the sugar bowl towards him. “I wouldn’t worry about that. I heard that Pop’s retiring soon, and there’s already an interested buyer lined up. One who is also looking to buy up some property in Centerville in a revitalization effort.”

Fred raised an eyebrow. “Should I ask even ask why she’d leave Chicago for Riverdale?”

Mary’s smile was hidden by her coffee mug. “Santa must have brought a Chris-akkuh miracle early this year.”


	2. Bughead: Parson Brown

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Our first date goes horribly so i don’t know why i say yes to a second date, and now, we’re stuck at the diner until the snow slows down and i’m having fun

Betty was still trying to figure out why she’d ever agreed to a first date with the best friend of Archie’s most recent girlfriend, let alone how she’d managed to unwittingly agreed to a second. 

The first date had been torturous enough to sit across from an insufferable man whose sarcasm and running commentary on everything from pop culture to literature to food had been so drastically different from her own perceptions of the world. In a world-setting record, Betty managed to get into an argument with one Jughead P. Jones less than five minutes after they’d sat down to a blind date set up by their mutual friends. It had sparked when Betty had mentioned she’d seen one of the most recent chick flick’s she’d been looking forward to, and they were off to the argumentative races about the relative necessity of mindlessly entertaining media. 

The night had ended abruptly as soon as the check had been set down and Betty was never so grateful to go her separate way from the cranky, un-fun hipster wannabe. She would have been perfectly happy to live her life without ever setting her eyes on him again. But then she’d gotten caught up in the Christmas rush and last-minute work deadlines, so when Archie texted her about doubling with Veronica and Jughead she’d said yes before she’d really had a chance to comprehend what she was agreeing to.

Now, a week before Christmas, Betty was stuck here in a deserted diner with Jughead Jones while the snow came down hard enough outside that the roads were closed and Veronica and Archie were snuggled up in front of a fire at Veronica’s apartment. The pair in the diner sat silent as they waited for their drinks, black coffee from him, hot cocoa for her. When their drinks arrived, the waitress brought with it the news that the roads would be shut down for at least the next three hours. 

It wasn’t an attractive prospect for Betty. No matter how attractive she found the man sitting across from her to be, his personality still grated her. Still, she was thankful he seemed to be in a better, quieter mood tonight. She could do without his incessant, rhythmic tapping on the countertop as he stared out at the snow. Just as she was wondering whether it would be rude to pull out the book she had in her purse (because one never knew when they’d find themselves in a situation that called for a little light reading), Betty realized that Jughead had been humming under his breath. He’d been humming a Christmas carol of all things, a light, happy tune coming from one of the most contrarian man she’d ever met. 

The contrast of it drew a smile from her, and softly she sang along. “In the meadow we can build a snow man, and pretend that he is Parson Brown.”

Across from her, Jughead cracked a smile. “It was my sister’s favorite song growing up. The minute we finished Thanksgiving dinner she’d start singing it and wouldn’t stop until New Years.”

Betty hummed a few more bars, the song lightening her mood. “My sister’s always loved Santa Baby. Every time she saw a Christmas decoration she’d start singing. Drew some questioning stares at church more than a few times.”

He chuckled, a pleasant sound she much preferred over his snarky commentary. “One of the first novelty Christmas songs ever published. Eartha Kitt said it was one of her favorites. I’ve always been partial to Hard Candy Christmas.”

Her head cocked to the side as she re-evaluated her initial impression of Jughead. “I wouldn’t have pegged you as a Dolly fan.”

He shrugged and took a sip of his coffee. “What can I say, she’s a great entertainer. The best county and western artist of our times, according to my mother. What was your Christmas song?”

Betty blushed and scooped a large chunk of whipped cream into her mouth. “Merry Christmas, Happy Holidays.” At his confused look, she added, “*NSYNC.”

He snorted. “And now?”

“White Christmas. The Drifters’ version, though Bing Crosby’s voice is always soothing this time of year.”

“He sang that song in three movies,” Jughead offered. 

She glanced up at him and found a hint of a challenge on his face. “Sisters was entirely improved and later added because Michael Curtiz liked it so much.”

Jughead leaned forward on the formica table. “Vera-Ellen only sang on ‘Snow.’ She lip-synced every other song in the movie.” Jughead paused, a crease of interest between his brows. “How do you know so much about White Christmas?”

“It was what we did on Christmas Day growing up.” Betty shrugged and dropped her eyes to her now cool chocolate. The memories she had of Christmases growing up were still fond, despite how scatter her family was now. Alice was off on another self-discovery seminar up in Vancouver, while Polly and the kids were out in Malibu with Jason’s family this year. And her father… Betty didn’t care to know what had happened to her father after that Christmas so long ago. Wherever he was, he’d put himself there.

“What about you?” she asked when she shook herself free of the memories.

Jughead’s gaze had turned back to the snow outside, now high enough to be level with the window. “Me and my sister, J.B., always watched the Christmas classics growing up. The holidays were hard for my parents, so it was the only festive thing we were allowed to do. J.B. can’t make it home this year though,” he murmured. 

Oddly Betty felt a pang of commiseration with him. Other than Archie, Betty didn’t have anyone else to celebrate the holidays with and sometimes she wondered what she would do when Archie had a family of his own. On impulse, she reached out and set her hand lightly on top of Jughead’s. He jumped, but didn’t pull his hand away. His eyes searched hers, questioning with a touch of fondness.

“Miracle on 34th Street was inspired by long lines at a department store,” Betty said softly.

Jughead’s lips twitched into a slow smile. “Valentine Davies’ wondered what Santa would think about the commercialization of Christmas.”

“The Griswold’s lived in the same house as Lethal Weapon’s Murtaughs.”

“Frank Sinatra was offered the role of John McClane in Die Hard, the greatest Christmas movie of all time.”

“Die Hard is not, and never will be, a Christmas movie,” Betty scoffed and leaned back in her seat. Before she could pull her hand away, Jughead had flipped his over and threaded his fingers through hers.

For the rest of the night, as they waited for the snow to clear, the pair traded their own brand of Christmas cheer. And if it became their own Christmas tradition that year, they both agreed to keep it from their friends until the New Year.


	3. Bughead: Christmas Cookies

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> If you're still accepting drabble prompts, could you please write Bughead as best work friends, with Betty getting drunk at the office holiday party while Jughead stays sober (for personal reasons); he's designated driver and intends to simply drop her off at home, but she asks him to come inside and that leads to “& stay by my side until morning”... Thank you! <3

Jughead sighed and flipped the keys around his fingers again. This wasn’t the first time he’d volunteered to be the DD for a work event, but this was the first time he’d also be driving co-workers home who didn’t work in his department. And it was the first time he’d be driving her home. 

Ugly sweaters and anxiety over unrequited crushes aside (he was a Jones! Ugly sweaters and crushes didn’t happen to a Jones, or at least according to J.B.’s pep talk they didn’t), it really wasn’t a half bad party. Thanks to the new HR director Veronica Lodge, soon to be the owner of the whole damn company, their usual holiday festivities had been upgraded from the dive bar where Archie ‘knew a guy’ to a legitimate, actually-has-a-commercial-on-tv hotel bar.

“Enjoying the night, Jones? Or just the view?” Veronica asked as she made her way towards him. Impressively, she only stumbled once in her sky high heels and didn’t spill a single drop of her champagne.

Jughead’s lip curled, but he didn’t take the bait. They’d both come to an agreement shortly after Veronica had nestled into her windowless office and made it known she actually gave a damn about what happened to her co-workers. She wouldn’t say anything about his crush on Betty, and he wouldn’t remark on her infatuation with Archie.

Veronica sighed and leaned against the wall next to him. “Pity Daddy wouldn’t also let me throw a New Year’s party. It’s too much planning to meet someone under the mistletoe. At least at New Year’s you can sidle up to someone before the ball drops and claim your stake.”

“They seem to be making it work,” Jughead muttered. He pointed towards the mistletoe covered archway that had been set up in front of the bar. Archie and Betty had bumped into each other for the third time tonight. And just like the other two times, Archie would point up, and Betty would giggle. They’d exchange a chaste kiss on the cheek and order a shot of some dark liquid from the bar. 

He turned away as Archie pointed up. Jughead knew how this particular scene would end. He knew it shouldn’t sting as much as it did. After all, they were only work friends. And it was a friendship borne of a love of coffee, bagels, and snide comments during work. 

They’d become each other’s rock in the turbulent sea of corporate hell. His sharp biting wit paired well with her take-no-nonsense attitude, and Betty had long since admitted she’d have quit long ago if it weren’t for Jughead. 

“I thought dating co-workers was against the employee manual.”

Veronica shrugged and threw back the rest of her champagne. “Daddy’s rules, not mine. Besides, the rules were meant to be broken over broad shoulders like his.”

He snorted and went back to watching his co-workers. Across the room, Dilton had torn off his sweater, festooned with tinsel, lights, and an overtly sexy elf, and waved it above his head like a banner. Reggie began to egg him on, and Dilton climbed on top of a table to the cheers of the rest of the IT department.

With a sigh, Jughead pushed off the wall. “Guess that’s my cue.”

“Like a bull to a matador,” Veronica mumbled into her empty flute. “Vaya con dios, Torombolo. I have a feeling you’ll need all the help you can get tonight.” 

Jughead pinched the bridge of his nose to steel himself before heading towards the inebriated software engineer. This was always the worst part of the night, rounding up the drunks. It was worse than filing the monthly tax reports and infinitely worse than his required one on one weekly meetings with Cheryl.

Thankfully Dilton readily agreed that now was a good time to go home once he’d face planted off of the table, and it didn’t take much to convince Josie, Mel, and Val that the time to leave had come. It was easy enough to get them to the front doors, though they’d scattered a few times to say one last goodbye or sneak in one more shot. By the time they’d made it to the front door, Mel had lost both her earrings, Dilton’s tie was around his forehead, and Josie had somehow acquired Reggie’s sweater and was carrying it around like a cat would a canary.

While they were waiting for the valet to bring Jughead’s ratty old sedan to the front, another voice called out to him. He knew that voice, and braced himself for the image of Archie and Betty clinging together like two birds on the wire. He turned with a forced expression of cheer on his face but thankfully Archie was nowhere in sight. There was only Betty, with her reindeer antlers crooked on her head and sparkly makeup smeared across her cheeks.

“Betty!” Dilton called out in that happy tone only the truly sloshed could achieve. “Are you come to join our merry sleigh ride through the snow?”

Without encouragement, Josie, Mel, and Val began to sing a lovely, if slightly slurred, rendition of Sleigh Ride. Betty giggled and the sound of it threatened to quirk Jughead’s lips into a smile.

“If you still have any room left at the inn, I’d love to join you.”

Mel slipped a hand around Betty’s waist and pulled her close. “There’s always room on my lap for you.”

Val made a hand gesture that confused Jughead and Dilton, but all four women burst out in laughter that didn’t subside until they were snug in his four seat sedan. 

Josie waited until the doors were closed to lean forward and, in a stage whisper, to announce to Jughead and Dilton that, “What happens at a work retreat, stays at a work retreat.”

“Except for Reggie Mantle,” Val said with a sly grin that sent the women a’giggling.

The rest of the ride was filled with the women’s laughter and chatter. At the first stoplight, Dilton’s head lolled forward. Before Jughead could check for a pulse, his mind already racing to every first aid class he’d ever been forced to take, Dilton let out a loud snore. 

Mel laughed and leaned through the front seats to turn the radio up and over to the latest dance craze. By the time they’d reached Dilton’s apartment, even Jughead was murmuring along to confectionary laced tune. 

Three stops and another eight songs later, Betty was left alone in the backseat. It didn’t take her long to crawl through to the front, her elbow narrowly missing Jughead’s forehead, and plop down in the passenger seat.

“You have very pretty eyes,” she said. 

Jughead glanced over to find her leaning against the console, staring at him with sleepy eyes. 

“Seatbelt,” he said. Betty pouted, but pulled the strap across her. Jughead cleared his throat and wondered why he’d chosen this route. Betty lived the closest to the hotel, and yet…

“So you and Archie?” he asked as nonchalantly as he could manage.

Betty reached up to toy with a lock of his hair. “Hmm? What about Archie?”

“You two kissed,” he said slowly, as if trying to deny the inevitable truth coming out.

“On the cheek. Because of the mistletoe.” Her voice wobbled on the edge of suspicion and laughter. “Besides, what’s a kiss between old friends. We grew up together after all.”

“When’s the wedding?” Jughead muttered, unable to keep his mouth shut.

From the corner of his eye he saw Betty’s head tilt, the same as it did when she was working through a particularly challenging copy-edit. Jughead reached towards the radio and turned it up, all the way hoping this was one of those small things a drunk person would forget the next day. 

The rest of the snow ride was quiet, save for the radio wishing them good cheer. Jughead pulled into a parking spot closest to the side door of Betty’s apartment. He refused to look at Betty, even when she put her hand on his arm.

“You’re not jealous, are you?” she asked. 

Her breath tickled his ear, and Jughead started at how close she was. He stared at her, his usual wit and whim leaving him high and dry. 

“No, not at all.”

Betty smiled her bright, sunny smile at him as she opened up her door. “Good, then you’ll come up for some cookies and milk? I’ve got a few left over and I’d hate to have to give them to my next door neighbor. She vacuums before eight on the weekends.”

She slipped away before he could decline her request. With a groan, Jughead turned the car off and trekked through the snow behind her. If it had been anyone else, he’d have watched them leave. But with Betty he’d long ago resigned himself to the fact he couldn’t say no to her.

When they reached her apartment, Betty had already run through the work gossip she usually filled him in on at work, and Jughead only had to steady her once on the stairs. When they reached her apartment and she’d unlocked the door, he hesitated at the entrance, unsure of why he was even here. 

Because of your useless middle school crush on a coworker maybe? 

He ignored his own thoughts and stepped into the apartment. Betty had already taken off her coat, scarf, and shoes and was in the doorway of what he assumed was her bedroom. 

“Let me slip into something a bit more comfortable. Help yourself to anything in the fridge.”

On anyone else it would have sounded like a come on, but with Betty it was a statement of fact. So he settled himself down at her kitchen island, too wound up to take her up on the offer of whatever leftovers were in the fridge. It wasn’t long before Betty returned to the kitchen and pulled out a tupperware with a few cookies left. 

When she set one in front of Jughead, he admired the craftsmanship for a moment. It was a santa, iced to perfection with his long whiskers, black gloves, and boot buckles. She’d even gone so far as to put wrinkles on the bag he carried on his back. The craftsmanship, however, did not stop him from eating it all in one bite.

“Slow down there, Jug. I’ve only got two more left,” Betty said with a slight giggle in her voice. 

She set two glass of milk on the counter and took the seat next to him. He did as she asked, taking smaller bites. 

“So you and Archie aren’t -”

Betty shook her head and made a face. “We went to the same high school. Maybe at one point things might have worked out, but we grew up together. It would be like dating my brother. No, more like dating my sister’s ex.” 

She peered at him, and he shifted under her scrutiny. Not many people could read him, but to her he’d always been an open book. “You really are jealous, aren’t you.”

Jughead shrugged and bit the head off a reindeer cookie, red nose and all.

“Why are you still single, Jughead Jones?” Betty asked out of the blue. 

He glanced over at her. She was staring at the Christmas tree she’d bribed him to help set up. Instead of answering, he took another bite.

“I could ask you the same thing,” he said after taking a drink of milk. “Why are you still single, Betty Cooper?”

Betty pulled her legs up onto the bar stool and spun to face him. Her chin was lifted in a determined challenge. 

“Because the man I like is too comfortable with being just friends to do anything about it.”

Jughead nearly swallowed his tongue. Of course she’d have picked up on it. Even Veronica had noticed his moping months ago and they didn’t work on the same floor. He cleared his throat and stared resolutely at the Christmas tree. 

“Maybe it’s not a comfort thing. Maybe it’s more of a doesn’t want to screw up a good thing. Thing.”

Betty snorted. “Do I really have to do everything, Jones?”

Jughead turned, mildly offended by her statement. After all, he’d been the one to plan the birthday lunches for the last three months and he’d been the one to pick out the Christmas tree and -

Any and all proof to the contrary was immediately lost as Betty kissed him.

When they parted, he looked up and Betty asked what he was doing.

“Checking for mistletoe.”

She laughed and set her hand on his cheek. “I promise we don’t need mistletoe for a repeat.”

“A Christmas miracle,” he muttered, but his wry comment was belied by his grin. 

Betty chewed on her lip, thinking a moment. “Stay?” 

Jughead pulled back, startled by her sudden request. The last thing he wanted with her was a one night stand, especially when she’d been drinking. 

“Betty, you know I’m not that kind of girl. You haven’t even bought me dinner or flowers yet, and what would my mother think?” he asked, already halfway to the door.

Betty followed him and grabbed his hand. “No, not like that. It’s just the snow was coming down hard, and I know you’re tired from closing the Baker account this week, and it’s dark -”

“And you worry.”

She sighed, relieved that he’d found her train of thought. “And I worry. It’s almost three a.m. You wouldn’t want to run over Santa on his way home from work, would you?”

So he stayed the night, cuddled up against Betty to ward off the chill in the apartment. 

At daybreak he awoke suddenly, stifled by the heat. Betty had long since rolled over to the far side of the bed. 

A pang of anxiety immediately assaulted him. What if that kiss had been nothing more than a drunken inhibitionless spur of the moment thing? Or what if she’d forgotten? Logically he knew Betty had been a shade closer to tipsy than drunk, and that she rarely acted on a whim unless she’d already thought out all outcomes. But he couldn’t keep the thought from cropping up. 

One look out the window showed that the roads hadn’t been cleared yet. Too hot to sleep, Jughead took refuge on Betty’s couch. He settled one of the many Christmas themed movies and it wasn’t long until he was sound asleep. 

When woke the second time, he was greeted with the smell of bacon, eggs, and pancakes accompanied by a woman humming Christmas carols. Groggy, he sat up and watched as Betty moved around the kitchen. 

“Morning,” he said softly.

She tucked a lock of hair behind her ear and stirred something on the stove. “Good morning. I woke up and thought -”

“I got too hot,” he blurted out. At that moment he was certain he’d have done anything to make sure Betty knew he liked her. 

With a smile, she walked over and kissed him over the back of the couch. Whatever worries had assailed him that morning, her brilliant smile evaporated them all.


	4. How Hiram Lodge Stole Christmas

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Parody of How the Grinch Stole Christmas (All Apologies to Dr. Seuss)

Every teen down in Riverdale liked Christmas a lot …

But the Lodge, who lived high above Riverdale, did NOT!

Hiram hated Christmas! The whole Christmas season!

Now, please don’t ask why, no one quite knows the reason

It could be his tie wasn’t tied on just right,

It could be, perhaps, that his suit was too tight.

But I think that the most likely reason of all,

May have been that his heart was two sizes too small.

Whatever the reason, his heart or his suit,

He stood there on Christmas Eve, hating the teens,

Staring down from his penthouse with a sour, Grinchy frown,

At the warm lighted windows below in their town.

For he knew every Teen down in Riverdale beneath,

Was busy now, hanging their own Jingle Jangle wreath.

“And they’re hanging their jackets!” he snarled with a sneer

“Tomorrow is Christmas! It’s practically here!”

Then he growled with his Lodge fingers nervously drumming,

“I MUST find some way to stop Christmas from coming!”

For Tomorrow, he knew, all the Riverdale girls and boys,

Would wake bright and early. They'd rush for their dice!

And then! Oh, the noise! Oh, the Noise!

Noise! Noise! Noise!

That's one thing he hated! The NOISE!

NOISE! NOISE! NOISE!

Then the Riverdalians, young and old, would sit down to a Pop’s feast.

And they'd feast! And they'd feast! And they'd FEAST!

FEAST! FEAST! FEAST!

They would feast on milkshakes, and big ole’ cheeseburgers.

Which was something Mr. Lodge couldn't stand in the least!

And THEN They'd do something He liked least of all!

Every teen down in Riverdale, the Ghoulies and the Vixens,

Would put on their cat ears, with Serpent signs hissing.

They'd stand hand-in-hand. And the teens would start singing!

They'd sing! And they'd sing! And they'd SING!

SING! SING! SING!

And the more Mr. Lodge thought of this Riverdale Christmas Sing,

The more the Grinch thought, "I must stop this whole thing!"

"Why, for forty-three years I've put up with it now!"

"I MUST stop this Christmas from coming! But HOW?"

Then he got an idea! An awful idea!

MR. LODGE GOT A WONDERFUL, AWFUL IDEA!

"I know just what to do!" Mr. Lodge laughed in his throat.

And he made a quick Gargoyle horn and a cloak.

And he chuckled, and clucked, "What a great Hiram trick!"

"With this cloak and these horns, I look just like a Gargoyle!”

"All I need is a minion…” Mr. Lodge looked around.

But, since minions are scarce, there was none to be found.

Did that stop the old Lodge? No! Mr. Grinch simply said,

"If I can't find a minion, I'll make one instead!"

So he called the nun, Woodhouse, then he took some black thread,

And he tied a big skull on the top of her head.

Then he loaded some bags And some old empty sacks,

On a top of the line Benz, and gave the keys to the old nun.

Then Mr. Lodge said, "Giddap!" And the Benz started down,

Toward the town where the teens Lay asnooze in their beds.

All their windows were dark. Quiet snow filled the air.

All the teens were all dreaming sweet dreams without care.

When he came to the first little diner on Elm street.

"This is stop number one," the old Lodge Claus hissed,

And he walked to the door, empty bags in his fist.

Then he slid through the rotating doors. A rather tight pinch.

But, if Santa could do it, then so could Mr. Lodge.

He got stuck only once, for a moment or two.

Then he stuck his head inside and saw

Where the little teen chalices all hung in a row.

"These chalices,” he grinned, "are the first things to go!"

Then he slithered and slunk, with a smile most unpleasant,

Around the whole room, and he took every present!

Fizzy Rocks! And photos! Cat ears! And guitars!

Board games! Dice! Cosplay! And cheese fries!

And he stuffed them in bags. Then Mr. Lodge, very nimbly,

Stuffed all the bags, one by one, up the chimney!

Then he slunk to the kitchen. He took Pops’ own feast!

He took the apple pies! He took the roast beast!

He cleaned out that kitchen as quick as a flash.

Why, that Lodge even took their last can of maple-hash!

Then he stuffed all the food out the door with glee.

"And NOW!" grinned Mr. Lodge, "I will stuff up the tree!"

And Mr. Lodge grabbed the tree in the corner, and he started to shove,

When he heard a small sound like the coo of a dove.

He turned around fast, and he saw a small Who!

Little Veronica Lodge, who was not more than seventeen.

Mr. Lodge had been caught by his own teen daughter,

Who'd got out of bed for a cup of cold water.

She stared at Mr. Lodge and said, “Oh Daddykins, why,”

"Why are you taking our Christmas tree? WHY?"

But, you know, that old Lodge was so smart and so slick,

He thought up a lie, and he thought it up quick!

"Why, my sweet palomita,” the fake Gargoyle King lied,

"There's a dice on this tree that won't roll on one side."

"So I'm taking it to the nuns in Fox Forest,”

"I'll fix it up there. Then I'll bring it back here."

And his fib fooled the teen. Then he patted her head,

And he got her a drink and he sent her to bed.

And when Veronica Lodge went to bed with her cup,

He went to the door and stuffed the tree out!

Then the last thing he took was the pot for their coffee!

Then he went out the diner, himself, the old liar.

On their walls he left nothing but dust and some neon.

And the one speck of food that he left in the diner,

Was a crumb that was even too small for a maple-syrup miner.

Then He did the same thing to the other teens’ houses

Leaving crumbs much too small for the other teens’ farms!

It was quarter past dawn... All the teens, still a-bed,

All the teens, still asnooze when he packed up his Benz,

Packed it up with their jackets! The beanies! The chalices!

The syrup! And the bon mots! The Jingle Jangle! The Red Circles!

Three thousand feet up! Up the side of Sweet Water,

He rode with his load to the tiptop to dump it!

"PoohPooh to the teens!” he was grinchishly humming.

"They're finding out now that no Christmas is coming!"

"They're just waking up! I know just what they'll do!"

"Their mouths will hang open a minute or two,

Then the teens down in Riverdale will all cry BooHoo!"

"That's a noise," grinned Mr. Lodge, "That I simply MUST hear!"

So he paused. And Mr. Lodge put his hand to his ear.

And he did hear a sound rising over the snow.

It started in low. Then it started to grow.

But the sound wasn't sad! Why, this sound sounded merry!

It couldn't be so! But it WAS merry! VERY!

He stared down at Riverdlae! Mr. Lodge popped his eyes!

Then he shook! What he saw was a shocking surprise!

Every teen down in Riverdale, the jocks and the nerds,

Were singing! Without any presents at all!

He HADN'T stopped Christmas from coming! IT CAME!

Somehow or other, it came just the same!

And Mr. Lodge, with his grinch-feet ice-cold in the snow,

Stood puzzling and puzzling: "How could it be so?"

"It came with out dice! It came without boards!”

"It came without syrup, dead bodies or G&G!”

And he puzzled three hours, till his puzzler was sore.

Then Mr. Lodge thought of something he hadn't before!

"Maybe Christmas," he thought, "doesn't come from a store."

"Maybe Christmas...perhaps...means a little bit more!"

And what happened then? Well...in Riverdalde they say,

That Mr. Lodge’s small heart grew three sizes that day!

And the minute his heart didn't feel quite so tight,

He whizzed with his load through the bright morning light,

And he brought back the dice! And the food for the feast!

And he, HE HIMSELF! Mr. Lodge carved the cheeseburgers!


	5. Bughead: Blue Christmas

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You are doing the song prompts! I am so excite! I just got back to tumblr and saw! How about - “I’ll have a blue Christmas without you.” - Betty and Jughead stringing popcorn for the tree. Jughead keeps eating the popcorn. Betty is probably going to throttle him. Something like that!

When Betty first found out that the Jones’ didn’t celebrate Christmas, her trio of friends were six going on seven. Even then Betty knew enough from her books that Christmas should be a special time for kids, something to look forward to and be excited about. So she’d taken it upon herself, and an unwilling Archie, that they had to have their own Christmas among friends. 

Because even if Jughead was going to spend his Christmas day in an undecorated trailer, Betty wasn’t going to let him not have a Christmas. And so it became a tradition among the three friends that even if they grew apart as they grew older, they still had each other for the holidays.

This year, though, was the year that Riverdale went topsy-turvy. Nothing was familiar anymore, and somehow Betty felt more urgently that this Christmas had to be something special. This was the year Jason Blossom had been murdered, proving to everyone that youth meant nothing in the face of death. This was the year Archie had set their relationship firmly in the realm of friendship. But this was also the year that Jughead Jones had slipped back into her life and their relationship had been sent spiraling, suddenly and exhilaratingly, into something far different than just friends.

There was a knock on the front door and Betty’s heart began to race alongside all the possibilities of what tonight might bring, good or bad. Betty raced down the stairs, partially to escape her own worry. She paused to smooth her hair down once more. When she opened the door, she found Jughead standing on her porch, a box of popcorn under one arm and a mostly eaten cheeseburger in his other hand. 

His face brightened at the sight of her, and the thought that he was happy to see her made Betty’s chest tighten in a new kind of happiness. 

“Hey.”

“Hey,” she said, and her cheeks heated up at the lame rejoinder. Thankfully Jughead seemed far more interested in the Cooper’s Christmas decorations, and finishing off his burger, than he   
is in Betty’s lack of witty greeting. “Doesn’t look like Archie is going to join us. Last I saw him he was glued to Valerie’s lips,” he said carefully.

All of a sudden the room around her is far too warm between the knowledge that it will just be her and Jughead tonight and his searching stare. Her parents were off at some P.T.A. meeting, and the house now feels noticeably quiet. 

“Too bad,” she breathed in an attempt at normalcy, “I made cookies.”

Jughead’s face lit up and he wasted no time in slipping off his shoes and around her towards the kitchen. Within moments Betty hears popcorn beating out a rhythm, and Betty takes a deep breath. Tonight was no different than any other night. 

Except, they’d kissed. Twice now. And Betty wouldn’t be opposed to doing it a few more times. All too late she realizes mistletoe would have given her the excuse for a kiss or too, but even that seems too contrived and cliche for whatever it is that’s growing between them.

A microwave beep pulled her back to reality. Jughead reemerged into the living room with a bowl of popcorn in one hand, a tray of cookies in the other, and a half eaten gingerbread man hanging from his mouth. 

“What merry plans did you have for us tonight?” Jughead asks through a mouthful of gingerbread. 

He sets the popcorn and cookies on the table and takes a seat on the ground. Betty tried not to let her disappointment show that he’s chosen to sit so far from her. She picked up the needle and thread. “Stringing popcorn for the Christmas tree.”

“Waste of good popcorn,” Jughead muttered. 

His foot bumped hers and stayed there as he picked up the needle and thread. They talked about school, and the paper, and everything that had nothing to do with the question of them. It’s almost an hour before Betty realized that while there’s a decent sized string of popcorn between them far more popcorn has gone into Jughead’s mouth.

“Jughead Jones, if you don’t stop eating that popcorn I’ll, I’ll,” she stammered as she tried to find some sort of threat that would make him leave the popcorn alone. 

He smirked and popped another kernel in his mouth. His foot shifts closer to her so that their knees touched. “Kill me? Throw me out into the snow? Make me layout the paper entirely on my own next month? Throttle me within an inch of my life?”

There have been many times where Betty wished Jughead wasn’t so adroit with words, but now she was grateful that he’d laid so many possibilities out for her flustered mind. “Throttle you. I’ll throttle you and leave you on the floor for my mother to find.”

His eyes comically wide, Jughead pushed the bowl closer to Betty. “You wouldn’t.”

In her best Veronica impression, Betty sets her mouth and eyebrows in what she hopes is a coquettish look. “Try me.”

Jughead stared as she strung another kernel onto her string. Betty can’t help but notice how dark and long his eyelashes are. 

“You’d miss me,” he says in a low voice that does strange things to her stomach.

She strings another handful of popcorn through the needle before looking back up at him. 

“I’ll have a blue Christmas without you,” she says softly. She’s startlingly aware of how he leans across the table towards her, his lips parted ever so slightly. “But it’s a sacrifice I’m willing to make if we don’t get this tree trimmed before my parents come back home.”

Jughead is shocked into silence, a feat Betty’s only been able to accomplish a few times in her life, and she took the chance to steal a kiss. Without another word, Jughead picked up his needle and thread he’d long since abandoned. 

Before she can ask, Jughead said, “Can’t have a blue Christmas, can we?”

(After the tree is finished and the lights turned on, Betty stole a few more kisses from Jughead, and his last cookie.)


	6. Jarchie: Slip and Fall (Into Your Arms)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> How about - 08. i slip on some ice and you’re the stranger who catches me - all of the yes!

Jughead Jones was the furthest thing from happy as he’d been all day as he left the bookstore. According to his employee record, he’d been one of the most hardworking, diligent, timely employees they’d had. And yet he’d been the first on the chopping block to make room for an honorary position for the boss’s daughter. 

Laid off at Christmas. What a damn cliche.

To say his dark and stormy thoughts were elsewhere was an understatement. His mind lingered among all the things he should have said as he walked out the door, all the things he’d have to rethink without a steady source of income. So it really shouldn’t have been a surprise when he hit a patch of black ice on the pavement and felt the world fall out from under him.

He screwed his eyes shut and waited for the inevitable pain and embarrassment that came from falling flat on one’s back, the contents of his bag strewn everywhere while concerned onlookers checked to see if they needed to call someone.

Only the pavement never came up to punch him down even further than his recent firing.

Instead there was someone pulling at his jacket, keeping him from a harsh reality check. He opened his eyes to find a red-haired man holding Jughead by the arm as if he weighed no more than a tissue box. With what seemed to take no effort at all, the man pulled Jughead back to his feet.

“Careful there, hate to see you knock yourself out.”

The man had a slight accent - Australia? New Zealand maybe? - and Jughead wasn’t entirely certain that he hadn’t hit his head. After all, who went around a snow-covered city in a bright blue and gold varsity jacket, sandals, and a guitar? 

“Thanks,” Jughead muttered. He straightened out his jacket, expecting that to be the end of that encounter (and in this city, it usually was), but this man seemed to have missed the memo.

“No worries. Would have hated to see you brain yourself.” He paused and scratched the back of his head, a sheepish look on his face. “Mate, do you reckon you could do me a favor? I’m looking for -” the man squinted at the palm of his right hand. “Pod’s? Yeah-nah, that can’t be right. Pob’s? Pab’s? Pa-”

“Pop’s?” 

“That’s the one.”

The redhead stood there, grinning widely with an expectation that Jughead could never decline to help. And in a way, he was right. Jughead couldn’t help but feel a sense of comradery with the man. Something about him was so nice it almost seemed a waste of energy to try and dislike him. 

He quickly squashed that feeling though. Afterall, the redhead was just another lost tourist, someone who’d leave the city as quickly as he’d come. And yet…

“I’m headed there now. I can walk with you, if you want,” Jughead said as noncommittally as possible. He shoved his hands into his coat pockets and looked purposefully away from the man.

“Choice, bro. Lead the way.” 

They began walking, and if Jughead noticed how close they were he didn’t mention it. It wasn’t until they’d reached the light at the end of the road that the man held out his hand.

“I’m Archie, by the way.”

Jughead shook it and noted the callouses on Archie’s fingertips. Likely the guitar wasn’t a prop to draw attention as he’d first suspected. 

“Jughead.”

Archie raised an eyebrow, but didn’t ask about the nickname. Instead he filled the walk with amicable chatter about his experiences in the city while Jughead offered his own minor commentary. It was, on the whole, like talking with a very friendly, very enthusiastic travel blogger. 

Jughead should have been put off by the chatty Kiwi (a fact discerned by Archie’s disappointment not to be able to find a ‘Kiwiburger’ in the states), but instead he found himself responding more the longer the conversation went on. It was as if he’d known the man his entire life rather than just ten minutes.

When they arrived at the diner, Archie held the door open for him. The first thing Jughead noticed was that half the diner had gone silent and was staring at the redhead behind him.

“At least let me buy you a cup of coffee. To new friends and all, yeah?” Archie asked, oblivious to the attention.

Never one to turn down coffee, Jughead pulled his beanie down further over his ears and hiked his collar up. “There’s a booth in the back,” he said with a nod. 

He waved at Rosie the waitress as he passed. Archie, though, seemed to greet everyone on their way to the back. It was an odd thing, for someone who hadn’t been to Pops’ before, but Jughead put it down to his overly friendly nature. 

Jughead took his regular seat in the booth, and Archie seemed relieved to be able to put his back to the door. It was easy to read Archie, Jughead realized, and that was strange in-of-itself. Or maybe that was just who Archie was. Someone who was confident and self-assured enough to put himself out there. 

He seemed normal enough, despite the curiosity of the rest of the diner, and that Jughead put down to the redhead being a novelty. Everyone knew or recognized everyone else within the soft, neon glow. Pops’ was a local diner for local residents, and not many tourists made it this far out of the city unless they knew a local, so Jughead chalked the interest down to that.

“So what do you do?” Archie asked after they’d ordered coffee. 

A mocha latte, extra whipped cream for Archie, a black, no cream, no sugar, endless refills for Jughead.

“In general or professionally?”

Archie shrugged and picked up a menu to flip through it. “Both. Either.” He thought about it for a moment and Jughead could almost see his thought process. “What would you want your obituary to read if you carked it?”

Jughead snorted at the unexpectedly morbid statement. There were a lot of things he knew he didn’t want put in his obituary - his inability to hold a steady job, his jadedness about the world and the people in it, his use of sardonic humor to keep from getting close to people. (At least he’d be a self-reflective corpse.) 

“I’m a freelance photographer for the local newspaper.”

Archie’s head jerked up in interest. His grin was so wide it was easy to see that he’d been the recipient of braces in his younger years. No one had teeth that straight and white without some dental work. 

“Yeah? That’s keen. How’d you get into that?”

It was a long story, one that Jughead was still a bit sore about. His ex had inherited her parents newspaper and, in a pinch, had called him at three in the morning to ask if he could photograph some rally protesting a high school shutting down to make way for a prison. And because it was Betty asking him, he couldn’t say no. They might have broken up after college, but she was still his best friend. And even his jaded, sardonic heart couldn’t say no to the paycheck she’d offered.

Betty had called him a godsend and used him as a photographer on and off since then, his ability to work odd and long hours a benefit to them both. But Jughead couldn’t help but have the sneaking suspicion that this was some sort of hand out, some way that Betty had come up with to help him financially in all the ways he’d refused when they’d been dating. 

It was an irritable thought he kept to himself. Working for her had lead to other jobs, but he still couldn’t help feeling strangely indebted to her. “A friend needed me to photograph a political protest,” he said, condensing the entire story in the sentence blurb the paper would use. (After all, they charge by the letter.) “I’ve been working with her ever since.”

“Do you take other jobs? A friend of mine’s been wanting to do an album cover, but she thinks all the ones she’s used before are rubbish. I can show her some of yours at our next meeting. I’m sure they’re brilliant.”

Archie’s interest seemed genuine, and it was the first time in a long time Jughead wanted to share his personal work with anyone. But it was easy enough to be excited over someone else’s work. It wasn’t so easy to be rejected outright, especially when your work would forever be labeled as ‘rubbish.

Besides, his friend was likely some indie artist with two hundred followers on NoiseCumulus offering to pay in ‘exposure’ and ‘experience.’ Two ‘e’s that didn’t pay the bills.’

“Yeah, sure. Maybe.” It was a noncommittal answer, the same one Jughead used to get out of things without having to make up an excuse for it. 

There was a lull filled with the sounds of cutlery and line cooks yelling out orders. It occurred to Jughead a moment too late that it was his turn to move the conversation along.

“What is it you do?” 

Archie looked at him strangely a moment. With an amused grin, he said, “I sing a little. Gig around bars and street corners. Crash on some friends’ couches, that sort of thing.”

“Bet you meet a lot of interesting people that way,” Jughead said.

“That’s a nice way of putting it.”

There was a jingle at the door and a stranger dressed in clothes that screamed old money walked in. He looked around the diner before taking off his sunglasses. The sight of him set Jughead’s teeth on edge just on principle alone. Or maybe that was just the amount of hair pomade the man obviously used.

Archie’s phone buzzed. He turned to wave at the man. 

“That’s my manager,” he said. He hesitated a moment, and when he’d decided something took a pen out of his pocket and wrote something down on a diner napkin. 

“If you want to do dinner tonight, and don’t feel like you have to, but here’s my number,” he said as he wrote. 

Surprised at Archie’s interest, and sure he was misreading his intention, Jughead took the napkin. “Dinner would be good. So long as you weren’t thinking Italian. The only good Italian place blew up last month.”

“Sushi then? I’ve been craving it since I landed, but haven’t had the time to find a good place.”

“I know a place,” Jughead told him. “I’ll text you the address.”

“Oh chur. See you then. And don’t forget to bring a portfolio of your work if you want. I can pass it on to Josie this weekend,” Archie said. He reached out and squeezed Jughead’s hand before collecting his guitar and walking towards his manager, who gave Jughead a slow, appraising look. Jughead scowled at him and his overly oiled hair.

A few minutes after Archie left the booth, Jughead’s phone buzzed with a stream of texts from his sister. 

_‘Archie? You’re having breakfast with Archie Andrews?!?!? Number one pop star and love of all under 17 and over 46???? YOU?????’_

_‘WHAT have I done to deserve this punishment?’_

_‘It should have been me!!!!’_

_‘Did you ask him about his tour? Did you get an autograph?? Did he talk about his music???’_

It finally clicked why she was so distraught, though, when she sent the picture of him and Archie walking through the door at Pop’s. 

It was so obvious, and yet Jughead had entirely missed it. Archie Andrews was J.B.’s inane pop star, known the world over for his sugary pop lyrics, great smile, and overall charm. For as much as she claimed to be edgy and off the beaten path J.B. had the biggest crush on an inane pop star. His posters covered the walls of her bedroom back at his mother’s apartment, and she listened to his songs on constant rotation when it was just the siblings in a car.

He’d even made the nightly news about his announcement to tour the U.S. as the opening act for Josie and The Pussycats, likely the same Josie he’d mentioned showing Jughead’s work to.

And Jughead had just agreed to go to dinner with him.


End file.
